someone we all knew like Geordie Turnbull to explain about the dam, that would be okay.
So Geordie came.
He had a funny way of talking which Miss Lavery said was because he came from Newcastle. He didn't lecture us but just sort of chatted and answered questions. I recall him saying, 'Which of you kiddies ever tried to dam a stream?' And when all the hands went up, he said, 'All right, so tell me, bonnie lads and lasses, what's the best stuff to work with when you're building your dam?' And some said earth, and some said stones, and some said branches. Geordie nodded and said, 'Good answer,' to all of those. Then he said, 'Now, here's a hard one, what's the worst stuff of all for your dam?' And while everyone was thinking, Madge yelled out, 'It's the watter!' And Geordie laughed out loud, and we all laughed with him, 'cos you had to laugh when he did, and he picked her up and swung her on his shoulders and said, 'Yes it's the watter'-taking her off-'the very stuff you're trying to save that fights against you saving it. So when it's hot and dry like now, building a dam's a lot easier than when it's cold and wet. In fact you might say it's a dam sight easier.' We all laughed again, and even Mrs. Winter had to smile.
Then he swung Madge down and gave her a kiss and said if ever she wanted a job moving earth, she just had to come and see Geordie Turnbull.
So it were a great success. And Geordie were even more popular after that. And everyone used to say that it were the well-off folk in their big offices in the city who were responsible for drowning the dale, no use blaming the contractors, who were just ordinary working lads trying to earn a living.
But when Madge got took, everything changed. Suddenly we were told not to go anywhere near the site, not to speak to anyone working on the dam, and anyone tried to talk to us, to run off fast and tell Constable Clark.
And above all we were warned not to talk to Geordie Turnbull. At the talk he gave in the school, no one had been bothered by him putting Madge on his shoulders or giving her a kiss or telling her to come and see him if she wanted a job. Now everyone was talking about it and they wouldn't serve him in the Holly Bush anymore, and there was nearly a fight when he wouldn't leave. Then one day we saw him took off in a police car, and everyone was saying they'd got him and he owt to be lynched. Two days later, but, he were back at work, though he never came into village again. But it didn't matter because now there was something new to occupy people's minds.
The bobbies had had no luck getting hold of Benny Lightfoot, but in the end they got a piece of paper saying they could search his room. Old Mrs. Lightfoot said that it'd take more than paper to get in her house and she set the dogs on them, but in the end they did get in, and up in Benny's room they found books with mucky pictures and some of the knickers that had gone missing off clotheslines. I don't think they wanted anyone to know owt of this straight off, but it were all round village in an hour.
Now they were really hot to catch Benny. They put two men to hide in the old byre alongside Neb Cottage. Everyone said they must be daft to imagine Benny wouldn't be watching them from up the Neb, and after couple of days a car bumped up the track and took the men hiding away. What no one knew was they dropped another man from out the back of the car, and he hid in the byre, and that night when Benny came down to his gran's, he jumped on him. Then he shut both himself and Benny up in the byre and radioed for help, which were just as well. When the others got there, old Mrs. Lightfoot were outside byre with her dogs and a shotgun, trying to break down door.
They took Benny away into town, and while everyone were sorry for the old lady, they all hoped this were the end of it. But four or five days later, Benny were back. According to what Nobby Clark said, they'd questioned him and questioned him, but he just kept on saying he'd done no harm, and they had to give him a lawyer, and though they kept hold of him long as they could, in the end they had to let him go.
No one in the dale knew what to think, but all the mams told their kids the same thing, if you see Benny Lightfoot, run like heck. And some of the dads after a few pints in the Holly Bush were all for going up to Neb Cottage and getting things sorted, though my dad said they were a load of idiots who'd pissed their brains out up against the wall. There might have been a fight, but Mr. Wulfstan were in the bar with Arne Krog and someone asked what he thought. Folk had a lot of respect for Mr. Wulfstan, even though he were an off-comer. He'd married local, he didn't object to hunting and shooting, and he spent his brass in the dale. Above all, he'd fought the Water Board every inch. So they listened when he said they'd got to trust the law. Best thing they could do was keep the kids in plain view till time came for us all to move out of the dale, which weren't too far away.
It were funny. The more worried folk got about their kids, the less they worried about the dam. In fact some of the mams were saying it would be a blessing to move and get this behind them and start off new somewhere, a long way away from Benny Lightfoot, just as if him and his gran weren't going to have to move too.
Hot weather went on. Mere went down, dam went up. Folk said that with no water to hold in, it weren't really a dam at all, just a big wall, like Hadrian's up north, to keep foreigners out.
Except it hadn't worked. There were two in already. Arne Krog and Inger Sandel.
I knew then quite well 'cos Aunt Chloe often invited me to Heck to play with Mary. Also Arne remembered me from singing in the school choir last year, and when he heard I were singing the 'Ash Grove' solo this year, he asked me to sing it to him one day. I were so pleased, I just started right off without waiting for him to start playing the music on the piano. He listened till I finished, then sat down at the piano. It were one of them baby grands, Mr. Wulfstan played a bit himself, but he'd really bought it for Mary to practice on during the holidays. Mary didn't like playing very much, she told me. I'd have liked to learn, but we didn't have a piano and no hope of getting one. Anyway, Arne played a note and asked me to sing it, then a few more, then he played half a dozen and asked me which was the one that came at the end of the second line of the 'Ash Grove.'
When I told him, he turned to Inger and said, 'You hear that? I think little Betsy could have perfect pitch.'
She just looked at him, blank like, which meant nowt 'cos that was how she usually looked. She could talk English as good as him, only she never bothered unless she had to. As for me, I had no idea what he were talking about but I felt really chuffed that I'd got something that pleased Arne.
This piano at Heck had to be shifted to St. George's for the concert. There were an old piano in the village hall but it were useless for proper singing, and the one at school weren't much better. If a cat ran up and down keyboard, he'd have made it sound as musical as Miss Lavery when she tried to play it. So it had to be Mr. Wulfstan's baby grand.
My dad came to Heck with a trailer pulled by his tractor. He'd brushed most of muck off the trailer and put a bit of fresh straw on the boards, so it didn't look too bad. It took Dad and two lads from the village to get the piano out of the house while Aunt Chloe and Arne gave advice. I tried to help, but Dad told me to get out of the bloody way before I tripped someone up. I went and stood by Mary, and she held my hand. Her dad never spoke to her like that. If he hadn't seen her for half a day, he made more fuss when he got home than my dad had made of me when I came back from hospital after I spent a couple of nights there when I broke my leg.
Mr. Wulfstan wasn't there that day. Most days he drove into town to see to his business, and this was one of them. We went through the village in a sort of procession, Dad driving the tractor, the lads standing on trailer making sure piano didn't slip, Arne, Inger, Aunt Chloe, Mary, and me walking behind. Folk came to their doors to see what was going off and there was a lot of laughing, which hadn't been heard for a bit. No one had forgot about Jenny and Madge, but grieving doesn't pay the rent, as my mam said. Even the policemen who were in the hall looked out and smiled.
Reverend Disjohn were waiting at the church. Getting it through the door weren't easy. St. Luke's isn't a big, fancy building like you see some places. We learned all about it at school. Couple of hundred years back there were no church in Dendale and folk had a long trek over the fell to Danby for services. Worst was when someone died and you had to take the coffin with you. So in the end they built their own church by Shelter Crag at the foot of the fell, where they took the bodies out of the coffins and strapped them to ponies that carried them over to Danby. And when they built it they applied same rule as they did to their houses, which was, the bigger the door, the bigger the draft.
At last they got it in and set it up. Dad and the farm lads went off with the trailer. Inger sat down at the piano and tried it out. It had had a right jangling, getting it on and off trailer and through that narrow door, and she settled down to retune it. Aunt Chloe said she had some things to do in the village and she'd see us back home. Mary and I asked if we could stay and come back with Arne and Inger and she said all right, so long as we didn't go outside of the church. Arne said he'd keep an eye on us, and off Aunt Chloe went. Arne wandered round the church, looking at the wood carvings and such. Reverend Disjohn sat in a pew watching Inger at work. I often noticed when she were around he never took his eyes off her. She were too busy to pay any heed to him, playing notes, then fiddling inside the piano. It was dead boring, so Mary and I slipped outside to play in the churchyard. You can have a good game of hide-and-seek there around the gravestones. It's a bit frightening but nice-frightening, so long as the
